A Little Piece of You
by Abarero
Summary: A multi-part collection focusing on couples and an item of clothing shared between the two. Stories up featuring US/UK, Greece/Japan, Cuba/Canada and France/Seychelles.
1. EnglandAmerica: Warmth

**Title:** A Little Piece of You (1/?): Warmth  
**Characters/Pairing:** England/America

* * *

Had it been later in the year, he would have come prepared. New York was pretty mild throughout October and usually a nice long sleeved jumper would suffice. But, as with a lot of American weather, there had been a freak snowstorm that had dosed the city in white and made it undeniably cold.

America, spouting off some nonsense about it being a hero's duty, had gallantly given over his precious bomber jacket to England when they'd gone out; draping the shorter country in well-loved brown leather. As England sat on the bench in Central Park, shivering a bit due to the chill in the air and clutching the coat tighter around him, he smiled a bit to himself.

The jacket now was worn, but well cared for. The leather wasn't near as stiff and inflexible as it had been the first time England had worn it, and the fur around the collar was a bit less fluffy than he remembered it.

Leaning back on the bench, England looked up at the gray clouds above and thought back to the first time he'd worn America's precious bomber jacket.

* * *

It was the middle of WWII and the meeting had gotten a bit derailed when England and America started bickering again. England thought he was thoroughly justified, having had enough of America's bragging about his planes and how wonderful they were. And despite America's eye rolls and mutters about it being a "Timber Terror," England had absolutely insisted on taking him up in his current plane that very night.

America had eyed the two seater British bomber warily, cracking comments about the plane being made of mostly wood and asking if England had a parachute for him. But England was adamant, ushering him up the ladder and into the navigator's chair.

"Just hush up. The Mossie's a right fine craft and she could fly circles around some of your clunky models," he reprimanded, pulling on his cap and preparing for takeoff, opening the radiator shutters so his engines wouldn't overheat.

America chuckled. "If you say so old man."

England started taxing out, casting a glare over his shoulder at the younger aviator behind him. He'd show America what the British pilots had been doing quite well, thank you very much, for years before he'd shown up.

With a slight smirk, he let the plane swing-out slightly on take-off. America started leaning forward, ready to help, but England quickly righted the plane and got it up into the sky with ease.

"Let the _old pro_ pilot this time, America. Believe or not, I do know what I'm doing."

He felt a smack of leather against the back of his head at that, and if he wasn't so focused on not crashing the plane, England was certain he would have turned around immediately and started telling America off. Right prat, he was sometimes.

"What the bloody hell are you doing back there?"

America huffed, shifting his eyes to look out across the expanse of night sky. "For such an _expert_ you aren't dressed for it at all."

England's eyes flickered down to his usual olive green uniform. He'd been so frustrated with America that he hadn't thought to change into his aviator gear completely before stuffing America into his plane and taking off.

Holding his head up proudly and not about to be one-upped, he replied coolly, "I have my cap and goggles. I'm quite all right."

The leather that was draped somewhere around the back of his chair shifted, and England gripped the wheel a bit tighter as he realized what America had been trying to do. _Is he trying to give me his coat?_

As if to answer his thought, warm hands reached around the sides of England's chair and settled the large bomber jacket around his shoulders. "Not good to get cold, especially at night."

He wasn't sure if it was the fact that America was correcting him or the lingering hands on his shoulders that made him blush the most. Shifting in the jacket, England felt his face heat up more as his heart started to race. _Oh blast it all, it smells just like him…_

Clearing his throat, he carefully threaded his arms through too-big sleeves. "Well, if you hadn't been being such a braggart I would have waited until tomorrow to take you up."

"And if you hadn't been being such a…"

And before America could finish, England dipped the nose of the plane down into a dive, smirking to himself as America's sentence died off and he heard the other country gasp. He skimmed over the land, pulling up at the last moment and rising steadily until they were soaring smoothly again.

"W-Wow…" America stammered, partially breathless. He started laughing. "Damn England. You're right, this baby can move. And you want me to believe it's made of _plywood_?"

England smiled to himself, clutching America's jacket closer to him and trying not to think _too_ much about why he enjoyed having it around him. "Balsa Bomber, Wooden Wonder, call the Mosquito what you will America. She can fly."

"Good thing the awesome pilot is warm enough to do his job then, hmm?" America quipped.

And England let America have that one without argument, because his coat was _warm_ (even if it smelled slightly of hamburgers) and well…he flushed, America had said the pilot was _awesome_.

"Quite right," England said genuinely. "Thank you."

* * *

"You're going to end up with a face full of snow at this rate," America's voice cut into England's reverie and he snapped back to attention.

Standing in front the bench was America, wielding a warm packet of roasted chestnuts he'd gone to get for them. "Here, this'll warm you up."

The older country reached out and took a chestnut and popped it into his mouth. "You're the one without a coat."

America shrugged. "I'm fine. I'm a hero after all!"

But the rosy tinge to his cheeks and nose betrayed him. England patted the bench next to him and waited for America to sit down. Under the ruse of leaning closer for another chestnut, he slipped his arms out of the jacket's sleeves and slid it around both of their shoulders. America blinked.

"W-What are you doing?"

England snuggled into his side with a blush. "Well… it's not good to get cold. Especially at night. And it is _your_ coat. It would be right rude of me not to share."

America just grinned, pressing a kiss to England's forehead and nuzzling into his hair. "Thanks."

And with a smile, England leaned up and pecked a quick kiss to America's lips. "You're the idiotic hero who shared it in the first place, silly."

America gave a dorky smile in reply, his mouth too full of chestnuts to speak. With a gust of wind, the snow started up again and the two huddled closer; England thinking to himself that despite the wear and tear it had gained over the years- the jacket was much better now, _and warmer_, with America still in it.

* * *

Notes:  
[1] England's plane is a de Havilland Mosquito, a British combat aircraft that excelled in versatility during the Second World War. It was comprised of two Rolls-Royce engines, and to save strategic materials, all-wood construction was chosen. This earned it the nicknames Balsa Bomber, Timber Terror, and Wooden Wonder; although its pilots often affectionately called it "Mossie."


	2. GreeceJapan: Comfort

**Title:** A Little Piece of You (2/?): Comfort  
**Characters/Pairing:** Greece/Japan

* * *

He had been woken up by the rain, the soft patter of it on the rooftop just enough to stir him from his sleep. Japan rubbed at his eyes and started to roll on the fluffy bed in hopes of drifting back off, when his mind registered two things. One, Greece was next to him and rather close. Even though it had become a bit of a common occurrence to wake up next to the other country, Japan still got extremely flustered at the mere _idea_ of waking up in bed with him.

Second, and almost groggily so, Japan realized he was clad in nothing more than one of Greece's white t-shirts. This, on the other hand, was new. Shyly, he sat up and picked at the edges of the shirt; the large width of the shirt shifting as he moved and sliding off to allow one of his shoulders to peek out.

Japan let out an embarrassed squeak, hastily tugging the shoulder of the shirt back up and bowing to the cat that was staring at him from the end of the bed.

"S-Sorry about that, neko-san!"

The cat mewed and snuggled back into the comforters, unfazed by Japan's outburst. Greece, of course, slept right through it. Sometimes, Japan thought the other country could sleep through a tsunami.

Tentatively, Japan swung his legs out from under the covers and sat on the edge of the bed. He blushed as he looked down at the shirt he was wearing again, vaguely remembering that he hadn't planned on staying the night and that Greece had offered it to him after they'd…

Japan's blush intensified and he buried his face in his hands. Someday, he wouldn't get flustered over the idea of having sex. _Someday._

Figuring a nice cup of tea would soothe his nerves; Japan sat his feet onto the ground and tugged the shirt down as best he could to cover his legs. He felt a bit awkward, walking through Greece's house in nothing more than a t-shirt; but he knew America had spoken of doing the same before at England's house and figured that there was a first time for everything.

Plus, there was just something about the comfortable and relaxed feeling of Greece's home that always made Japan a little more daring than usual. Even if that daringness was currently limited to walking through Greece's house in the middle of the night wearing a shirt several sizes too large for him.

Starting at a furry brush against his bare leg, Japan paused and reached out to pet the cat. "I'm sorry for the scare, neko-san. You just startled me, that's all."

The cat purred as Japan rubbed its ears and he felt a smile tugging at his lips. Everything about Greece- his home, the perpetual cats, and even the scent of him lingering on his shirt, seemed to calm Japan.

Much calmer, but figuring he was already most of the way there, Japan walked into the kitchen. He reached into the cabinet that Greece kept all his imported Japanese food products in and pulled out his favorite blend of green tea. Setting that aside, he rummaged in another part of the kitchen before unearthing a tea set; setting the cup aside as he prepared boiled water in the teapot.

The clatter of the teapot reaching a boil drew Japan's attention long before the footsteps from the hallway did. And it wasn't until he was at the counter pouring his cup of tea when he felt the warm arms circle his waist.

Japan started and Greece's sleepy voice tickled at his ear. "Hey, you okay?"

The tension eased out of Japan's shoulders and he found himself unconsciously leaning back into Greece's embrace. "Sorry for worrying you, Greece-san. I was woken up by the rain and thought tea might ease me back into sleep."

A hand lazily trailed up Japan's side, catching a bit at the cotton fabric of the t-shirt and coming to rest over Japan's heart.

"Mhm. Got woken up by the cats myself. They noticed you leave the bed and decided to take your place."

"O-Oh."

Greece let his hand drift back to Japan's waist, absently toying with the shirt's fabric. "…I-Is it comfortable?"

Turning his head a bit to try and figure out what he was asking about, Japan caught the light tinge of a blush on Greece's face and had to smile a bit to himself. "Comfortable?"

Nodding, the Mediterranean country mumbled, "My shirt. Is it okay?"

Japan maneuvered himself in Greece's hold, turning around to face him. There was something about him, and only him, that made Japan feel rather bold in situations where he'd usually be a stammering mess. Reaching up, he brushed his hand against Greece's cheek.

"It's just fine, Greece-san. I thank you again for loaning it to me in the absence of bringing my own night attire."

Groggily, Greece smiled back and leaned his forehead down against Japan's. "You…uhm…you look cute in it."

Japan flushed right to his ears, and he buried his face into Greece's chest. "G-Greece-san!"

He chuckled; but it was warm, reassuring, and kind. "You can keep it, to sleep in, if you want."

Japan felt the cool breeze tickling his bare legs. Normally, the idea of sleeping in nothing more than a t-shirt would never cross his mind. But with this shirt- worn and loved and scented like sea breezes and olive groves and cats- Japan found that he rather liked the idea of having it. He nodded, and feeling impolite for not asking sooner, he spoke up.

"I'm sorry for not making you a cup. Would you like some tea as well, Greece-san?"

"Sure."

* * *

The two returned to the bedroom, cups in hand, and Greece shooed the massive pile of cats from the bed so they could climb back in it. Once settled, leaning back against the headboard, Greece languidly wrapped an arm around Japan's waist. The rainfall outside was quieter now, almost soothing. _Much like Greece-san is_, Japan thought to himself as he sipped his tea. _He makes me feel so at peace; not old or uncomfortable or afraid to do something a bit…new._

And with that last thought in his mind, Japan set aside his teacup and leaned over to kiss Greece full on the mouth. The other country started at first, pulling back with a timid smile. Japan bit his lip and looked up at him through the fringe of his bangs.

"I know this is terribly rude of me to ask. And if you don't want to, that's completely all right, I'm very sorry for asking! But, I was thinking that since we're both awake…" He wrung his hands into the shirt he was wearing - _Greece-san's shirt_- and felt that little tug of happiness at his heart. "We might…might…"

Greece's face lit up and he finished the sentence for him. "You want to have sex again, Japan?"

Japan flushed- he really needed to get over this habit - and nodded. Greece just smiled; setting aside his teacup and starting to tug the shirt off over Japan's head.

And even if he would normally feel all kinds of awkward being this bare and exposed, somehow with Greece, Japan just felt nothing but loved.


	3. CubaCanada: Kindness

**Title:** A Little Piece of You (3/?): Kindness  
**Characters/Pairing:** Cuba/Canada

* * *

Finding someone at one of these larger world meetings was never easy. Sure, some nations managed to stand out- either in looks or by how loudly their voices carried over the din of the crowd; but in Cuba's case, the one nation he was looking for had a bad habit of being downright impossible to find even when he was standing right in front of you. But today Cuba was determined to locate the oft-invisible northern nation and give him a present he'd been nervously carrying around with him now for months.

Fingers absently stroking over the package in his pocket, Cuba cast one last glance around the meeting hall and took his seat. Sometimes Canada came in late, so perhaps that's where he was? Desperately wishing for a cigar, but knowing that several nations would loudly protest if he tried to light one up during the meeting, Cuba sighed. If he didn't manage to give this to Canada today, it might be months again before he gathered the courage to do so.

With a surreptitious glance at Germany, who was handling the proceedings as usual, Cuba pulled out his cell phone and texted Canada.

_{Hey where are you?}_

Within seconds, the phone gave a tiny jolt in his hand as a return text was received.

_{Um. I'm here in the meeting. Next to Cameroon?}_

Cuba let his eyes skim around the room, finding Canada along with his polar bear, sure enough, next to the African nation. He felt himself flush in embarrassment; Canada had probably been there all along.

_{Oh. Sorry. Didn't see you.}_

Canada huffed out a small sigh and replied.

_{That's okay, eh! It happens all the time…}_

Letting his eyes dart back up to where Germany was going on about something on page fifty two of their paperwork, Cuba decided that at this moment there were some things more important than the matters of this meeting. Steeling his nerve, he punched in a quick text message and excused himself from the room.

_{Can you meet me in the bathroom down the hall in a minute?}_

Canada read over the message a few times, his neck heating up as he tried to figure out why Cuba wanted to meet him there of all places. One rather dirty thought flickered through his mind and he shook his head to displace it. This was _Cuba_ he was thinking about, not _France_. It was certainly nothing like…_that_.

Standing up and asking to be excused so quietly no one noted, Canada sighed and let Kumajiro take his seat. No one would probably even notice he left the meeting room, which he supposed (his face heating up at the thought of this secret meet up with Cuba) would be for the best.

But as Canada made his way out the door, he didn't see the glint of glasses as a set of blue eyes did indeed notice him leave.

* * *

As Canada swung open the bathroom door, he was greeted with quite the sight. Across the room, leaning against the paper towel dispenser and smoking a cigar, was Cuba. Heat rose to his face as Canada's eyes traced up the other nation's black slacks, to his rumpled white dress shirt and red tie. A little smile quirked at Canada's lips as he noted the tie clip styled to look just like Cuba's flag.

But most striking of all, was Cuba's suspenders. Somehow- how he really wasn't sure- Canada hadn't noticed them until now. The way they stretched across Cuba's broad chest and over his wide shoulders and…

"Heya, Canada," Cuba murmured, noticing him enter.

Canada wanted to say something smooth in reply, perhaps even compliment the way those simple black suspenders seemed to make his mind race into overdrive. But instead of anything eloquent, he blurted out the first thing that came into his mind.

"I don't think you're supposed to smoke in here, eh."

"Oh. Yeah." Cuba frowned and snuffed out his cigar in the sink. "Forgot 'bout that."

He stuffed his hands into his pockets and shot Canada a nervous glance. "So I uh…wanted to give ya somethin'."

Canada's mind once again flickered to a rather...explicit images, now with added suspenders. He flushed bright red and struggled to find his voice.

"Give me something, eh?"

"Yeah, but ya gotta um…come closer."

With a gulp, Canada crossed the room until he was standing right in front of Cuba. The fact that the island nation was also blushing both comforted him and made him even more curious about what this gift could be.

Stuffing a hand back in his pocket, Cuba pulled out a small package and thrust it into Canada's hands. "Here. It's for you."

Violet-blue eyes blinked behind spectacles as Canada took it gently and tore open the plain-brown wrapping. A seashell choker fell out into his hands- white shells interspersed with painted shells adorned with small red maple leaves. He gasped.

"Cuba it's…it's…"

"I made it especially for ya. I hope ya like it."

Whatever compliment Canada was about to bestow died on his lips at the revelation that this was _handmade_, by _Cuba_, just _for him._

Unable to express his gratitude in words, Canada surged forward, his arms clutching Cuba tightly as he pressed a grateful kiss to his lips.

They both pulled back blushing fiercely, their eyes dropping to the floor.

"Uh…let me put it on you," Cuba offered quietly.

Canada's eyes darted up and met his. "Thanks."

The choker was passed back to Cuba, who fumbled with the clasp. Then he leaned forward flush against Canada to fasten it on.

"There."

Their eyes met and without words, they moved forward simultaneously. Canada slid his arms under the suspenders and smoothed them around Cuba's sides as their lips found one another's. Stumbling back against the wall and quite content to continue in their own little world, they didn't here the footsteps approaching.

"Hey bro, you okay? I think Kumajiro is starting to chew on your papers out of boredom and…ARGH!"

America came to a screeching halt as Canada and Cuba pulled apart, or at least tried to. Somehow, Canada had gotten himself entangled in Cuba's suspenders and despite his efforts to get free; he only seemed to make himself more tangled.

"YOU!"

"America, you bastard! Can't you knock?"

As the two glared daggers at each other, Canada continued to try and free himself. He twisted and turned as the insults started flying.

"Um…Cuba? America?" Canada murmured, but neither of them seemed to hear him.

"It's a public bathroom, you know! And it looks like my hero senses were right and my brother was in trouble."

"He was doing perfectly fine until you interrupted, bastard!"

"Making out with communists is not 'doing fine'!"

Cuba bristled at that, and Canada was certain that punches would be thrown soon if he didn't do something fast. With one last tug, he snapped himself free from the suspenders and stumbled out between the two other nations.

Except the snap he'd heard wasn't the suspenders, but instead it was the button to his slacks, which now pooled at his feet.

With an embarrassed flourish, Canada quickly tugged his pants back up over his maple leaf boxers and he gave America a pleading look.

"America, please?"

With a sigh, America walked forward and gave his brother a one-armed hug. "Fine, if you insist bro. But just…take care of yourself, okay?"

He nodded, smiling at his brother. "I will, don't worry about me."

America walked back over to the door and turned around at the last moment to give Cuba a withering look. "And don't you dare let him walk back in the meeting with his pants like that. If you really like him, you'll find a way to fix it."

As the door swung closed behind America, Cuba started to unhook his suspenders. "Here, you can borrow these."

"But Cuba…"

"I do really like you, don't I?"

Canada glanced down at the offered suspenders then back up to Cuba, a smile tugging at his lips. "You're the best, Cuba."

He coughed and blushed, moving forward to help Canada fasten the suspenders on his slacks. "It's the least I can do."

Pecking a kiss on his cheek, Canada let him fix the suspenders before they headed back to the meeting.

* * *

No one, aside perhaps a grumpy looking America who was being placated by England, seemed to notice Canada returning to the meeting wearing Cuba's suspenders.

The northern nation rubbed his fingers over them, giving them a little snap before smiling over at Cuba as they returned to their seats on opposite sides of the room.

As he sat down, he felt his cell phone vibrate and he pulled it out to see a text message.

_{You wanna come to my place later? Ain't gotta worry about interruptions there.}_

With a little dopey smile to himself, Canada touched his new choker before running his fingers over the suspenders that smelt of cigars and felt like a warm hug from their owner.

As he shooed Kumajiro out of his chair, he texted back.

_{I'd love to, eh.}_


	4. FranceSeychelles: Devotion

**Title:** A Little Piece of You (4/?): Devotion  
**Characters/Pairing:** France/Seychelles (Gakuen AU)

* * *

She just knew it had to be _somewhere_! But it wasn't in her closet, or the bathroom, or under her bed or anywhere else she looked.

Seychelles huffed, her bangs fluttering against her forehead as she did so.

"Where is it?"

She considered reporting it stolen or lost, but Seychelles could just imagine England's haughty face if she did so. Asking her, "Are you quite certain you haven't misplaced it?"

With another huff, she flopped back onto her bed. "Eyebrow bastard won't be an ounce of help. I'm just doomed…"

Staring at the ceiling, she sighed, her thoughts already running through all the bad things that were to come of this. _Great, if I can't find my uniform, I'll have to wear my sundress to class and I'll get strange looks._ Rolling on her side, she picked up her pillow and clutched it over her head. _I wish I was back home eating oysters. Stupid missing uniform. Stupid Student Council President. Stupid…_

A knock sounded on her door at that and she sat up, blinking owlishly at her bedside clock. It was late- which meant it had to be Hungary, since boys weren't allowed in the girls' wing this late at night. With a tiny wisp of a hope that her friend had found the missing uniform and had come to return it, Seychelles padded over to the door.

"Just a second!" She called out as the knock sounded again.

She opened her door with a start, noticing not only a very tall girl in front of her but blonde, not brown hair. And, now that she looked closer, there was something a bit off about how the uniform fit this girl's body…

"Bonsoir, ma chérie."

"Fra-"

Her yell was silenced as the 'girl's' hand pressed over her lips. "Un moment, s'il vous plait."

The whispered French she took as a sign that this was to be between only them and she nodded, letting the door close. As the latch clasped with a 'click' she turned to the visitor.

"France?"

"Oui?" He smiled through maroon lipstick and fluttered his mascaraed eyelashes, a glimmer of lavender eyeshadow catching Seychelles's eye. And she was quite certain, he'd even curled his hair a bit.

But all that was pushed aside by one singular thought. With narrowed eyebrows and hands on her hips, she queried.

"France, is that _my_ uniform?"

He gave a little twirl, letting the skirt fly up unashamedly. "I do believe it makes my thighs look fat, don't you think?"

Once he came to a standstill again, she glared him down. "Do you have any idea how long I've been looking for my uniform? I thought I'd have to wear my sundress and get made fun of! Oh look, it's the Tuna Girl in her Tuna-blue dress; I could hear the taunts already!"

With a huff, she stalked back over to her bed and crossed her arms.

France's smile softened. "Ah, so I see you _are_ a bit worried about fitting in. I thought that might be the case, so I had a friend borrow this from you so I could come and visit. I know, I might not be the person you want to see most; but I do care about you and wanted to make sure you were doing all right."

He slid out of the too-tight skirt and tugged off the too-tight sweater, folding them both and handing them over to Seychelles.

"I'll just borrow your lovely sundress to leave, please don't fret about tomorrow anymore, ma chérie. It breaks my heart to think of someone so beautiful in distress."

She wanted to be mad at him, at all the undue stress and concerns he'd raised, but seeing him standing there literally baring most everything before her in complete honesty disarmed her completely.

"Your boxers are stupid," she mumbled, giving them a quick glance before diverting her eyes elsewhere in her room.

France looked down at his silk boxers adorned with red roses and shrugged. "Ah, but they are the flower of love and passion, what is more appropriate for moi, no?"

"Just because they are appropriate for you doesn't mean I want to see them," she retorted.

"Well, I am certain I cannot be as striking as you are in your lovely nightgown, Seychelles. Like a beautiful siren, luring me in with your grace and…" he faltered, "scowl."

She had pulled up her pillow into her lap and was now glaring at him over it. She'd been so preoccupied worrying about her uniform that she'd forgotten completely that she was in her thin-silk white nightgown. It figures that France would find his way into her room at a time like this. And now that she thought about it, maybe that was what he was intending all along…

"You should probably leave."

France's smile faded, his eyes glancing over to the bedside clock before he shrugged. "Can't."

Seychelles's glare intensified, as did her doubts about his reasons for being here. "Excuse me? If you can sneak in, then you can certainly sneak out."

"As Student Council Vice President, I would know the curfew hours. While boys and girls are not allowed in each others dorms at any time unsupervised, no one is allowed outside their dorm after nine at night. Even if I leave here in disguise, I am afraid, that I would still be in trouble…"

Unable to believe it, Seychelles whipped her head around to look at the clock that mockingly read out 9:01 P.M.

"So, can I stay with you tonight?"

She stood, with all intents and purposes on smacking France and shoving him out the door in nothing but his boxers. It would serve him right, plotting to get into her bed like this. But before she could reach him, he spoke.

"The last thing you need is rumors starting about me sneaking out of your dorm at this hour, right? I would hate for people to think of you as ill as they oft think of me."

With her eyes narrowed, she eyed him. "Where would you sleep?"

France gave her a smile. "Wherever you would permit me to. The floor perhaps? Or the closet?"

Thinking back to her times with France when she was younger, Seychelles remembered how he would cuddle her close as they dozed off to sleep together. She blushed, shaking that thought from her head.

But somehow, at this moment, it felt…right.

"You can clean that makeup off your face in the bathroom. Just be quiet so you don't wake up Hungary who shares it with me. Then, well…" She crawled under her sheets and curled up on one edge of her bed, "I think there's room."

France smiled. "Ah, just like when you were younger perhaps?"

Seychelles buried her face in her pillow and yelled back a muffled, "Just don't try anything!"

After cleaning his face off, France returned to the room looking more like himself and less like a drag queen. He slid into bed, politely staying a safe distance away. But with a coy smile and a beckoning of his arms, Seychelles found she couldn't resist that familiar gesture.

Pressing her face against his bare chest, she sighed. "Is it bad that I want to go home just because I don't feel like I fit in?"

France chuckled. "Non, it is normal to feel homesick. Even I feel the pangs of it sometimes."

"You?"

"But of course. I shall take care of you, you know. Make you feel…at home, oui?" His hands wandered at that, skimming down her backside until he felt her hand smacking against his face. He toppled backwards out of the bed and Seychelles clambered after him.

"France, I'm so sorry! I apologize for hitting you, but you shouldn't be putting your hands _there_!"

"No, it is my fault as well. I forget that some people need warnings before they are touched by my amour."

With a smile, she extended her hand down and helped him back up. "Above the waist and off my chest, s'il vous plait."

"Oui oui."

Warily, Seychelles took his hands and put them both snuggly around her, to where his hands rested gently across her back. "Don't move them lower."

He tugged her closer instead, brushing his nose against hers before he leaned in and stole a kiss.

"F-France…" She murmured, a blush staining her cheeks.

"Do not ever hesitate to find me if you are feeling ill at ease here, Seychelles. It was at my suggestion you attended this school, so if you are feeling lonely or homesick, please come find me and I will do my best to ease your pains."

She nodded, her bangs sliding into her eyes as she dipped her head. He could be quite the gentleman sometimes… And although she would never admit it to him, he was indeed one of the people dearest to her and just having him around did make her feel more at home.

Impulsively, she leaned up and pressed a kiss to his lips, his stubble tickling her chin just like it always did when he would kiss her forehead when she was younger. She was pleased to see his eyes wide in shock as she pulled back and muttered a hasty "Good night!" before she switched off her lamp and buried her face against his chest.

In the dark, she felt him pull her closer, but as she'd requested- his hands did not stray any lower.

"Bonne nuit, ma chérie."

* * *

Hungary had watched the doorway the night before, wondering when France would sneak back out after she 'borrowed' the uniform for him. But as the hour grew later and later, she had a gut feeling that he had somehow convinced Seychelles to spend the night.

And so, she wasn't that surprised to peek out her door early the next morning to see a strange blonde-haired girl in a too-small blue sundress quietly sneaking off the girl's side of the dormitory area and back towards the boy's dorms.

With a smile, Hungary sighed and pressed a hand over her heart. "Donning drag just to see her, now _that_ is dedication."


End file.
